Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Last Resort, masquerading as the Imperial-aligned Star Galleon Rapiqum, came out of hyperspace well inside of the Imperial picket. Standing to the side, close but not too close to Aves, Luke Skywalker examined the plot. Most of the Imperial formation was clustered around Ukio in a classic multi-dimensional defense posture, capable of converging at any point on short notice, well inside of the planet's gravity well to ensure that there would be time to respond to any potential assault.
General Cracken's intelligence, obtained thanks to Iella Wessiri's operations on the planet some months prior, had yielded a wealth of information. Incoming freighters to Ukio were required to enter the system on a specific trajectory, which would be a first-round screen against Republican infiltration. Then they would be bracketed by Imperial fighters, scanned, and finally escorted in to land on the planet, load up on agricultural exports, and depart again along a different, constantly-changing trajectory.
It wasn't a particularly complicated defensive scheme, Luke thought, but it was an effective one. Or it would be, but Last Resort had one particular modification that should make the scheme unsuccessful. He was just there as backup, in case they needed a desperate mind-trick to slip past (something he had warned Wedge he was pretty sure wouldn't work, but that was what last resorts were for).
He hoped they wouldn't need it. The mind trick wasn't something he liked using very much, especially after dealing with C'baoth, who had so effortlessly and egregiously abused it. But in this case, Luke knew, he would if he needed to. The lives of the Rogues and Page's commandos, not to mention Aves and the Last Resort's crew, were all at stake, as well as the prosperity and livelihoods of all the Ukian farmers currently living under effective Imperial conscription.
Aves tugged his neatly-fit but clearly uncomfortable Imperial uniform into place, looking down at it, then over at Luke. "I hate having my hair cut for a part," he muttered.
"I'm sure it will be worth it. It's not like your hair was cut all that long before," Luke pointed out. He was dressed in his Jedi blacks; his New Republic flightsuit had been left behind aboard Ession Strike.
"True," Aves agreed, "but the Imperials all have this rigid hairstyle." The smuggler gestured at his head of blonde hair. "When you've got hair like mine, confining it to stormtrooper neat is like muting a songbird. Sure, you can, but—" he flicked his now quite short hair theatrically— "why would you?"
Luke laughed, appreciating the lightening of the mood. Clearly, the rest of Aves' bridge crew did likewise, and Luke could feel a general relaxation flow through the sapients that manned the stations surrounding them. Luke didn't know Aves all that well—he knew more about him from Lando and Wedge's brief stories of working with him—but he could understand quickly why Mara both found Aves aggravating and begrudgingly considered him a friend. "Are you sure you weren't an X-wing pilot in a previous life?"
"Coming from the co-founder of Rogue Squadron, I'll take that as a compliment," Aves replied. He sat up, straightening his uniform as the ship's comm system started beeping with the alert of an incoming transmission. "Time for all of us to play our roles." He nodded at his comms officer. "Put me on."
There was a brief fuzz of static as the comm channel with the distant Ukian orbital platforms was established. On the monitor, Luke watched as a flight of TIE fighters screamed towards them, casual but alert, their scanners already examining the galleon.
Luke forced himself to relax. The cloak would do its job, he reassured himself, recalling how at Sluis Van, the Imperials had used a cloaking device for the same purpose—to sneak an invasion force past scanners with the illusion of an empty cargo hold. It worked then, and unless the Imperials already knew they were attempting this ploy—and so far, at least, his danger sense wasn't kicking in—it would work again, but this time for the other side.
There was a certain satisfaction in taking Thrawn's genius and turning it around to work for them instead of against them.
"Imperial traffic control," Aves adopted a casual, slightly precise, very annoyed tone, "This is Captain Quiller of the Rapiqum. We're here out of Sartinaynian to collect ag products. Please assign us a landing site as quickly as possible; we managed to slip past the Rebel blockade and would like to slip back out before they get more diligent about patrolling the Ando hyperspace bypass. Forwarding our clearance code now." He nodded at his comms officer, who pressed a button.
Luke held his breath, hoping that the Imperials had not yet changed the code.
"Rapiqum, this is Ukio Control," a clipped, precise voice with a Coruscanti accent said in response. "Maintain your current heading and speed until our escort arrives to bring you in. Do not deviate."
Aves glanced at Luke, arching a questioning eyebrow. Luke, not feeling any additional danger, nodded slowly. Aves drew himself up. Up until this point they could make a quick escape back into hyperspace, but progressing further in-system would negate that option and quick. "Copy, Ukio Control," Aves replied casually. "Awaiting further instructions." He nodded at the Twi'lek woman who sat at the Galleon's helm. Her expression, Luke noted, betrayed more than a little nervousness, but the hand at the helm was steady.
Through the bridge's forward window the planet Ukio—its beautiful, luscious green continents mostly flat, spotted with rivers and lakes and flowing white clouds that shifted slowly—grew as they approached the perimeter. Above the planet, slowly circling it in low orbits, were the six Star Destroyers of Admiral Rogriss' fleet and their escorts. Luke's danger sense didn't twinge as they approached, but he could feel it go taut as his own awareness and tension ramped up. There were any number of ways this mission could go wrong, and while Luke had been a General and was hardly unfamiliar with the nerves that came before battle, it had been years since the last time he'd chosen one. This mission, this moment, was not one truly befitting a Jedi, he was sure. As righteous as the Republic's cause was, he'd not even considered diplomacy.
"Are we clear?" Wedge's voice was tinny over the Last Resort's internal comms, echoing out of a speaker above Aves' command chair.
Luke could feel, rather than see or hear, as the tension in the room grew as the Imperial ships loomed larger. Two TIE fighters casually raced in, splitting along either side of the rotund Star Galleon and boxing the freighter in while they performed scans of the vessel. Aves and his pilot were both holding their breath, but Luke's attention was drawn to the woman manning the ship's tactical board. He stepped close and reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder, and her hand—which had begun to reach to the firing control for Last Resort's more than ample gunnery array—drew back.
"Relax," Luke murmured. "We're still fine."
She nodded nervously. Luke made sure she was calm and collected, and then returned his attention to Aves.
The two TIEs lingered, then both kicked in their engines and roared off towards the nearest Star Destroyer, which was maintaining its distance.
"We're being scanned by the Star Destroyer now," the Twi'lek pilot said.
"Yeah," Aves muttered. Then, more confidently: "Well, they won't see a thing with the cloak in place." He pressed the button for the ship's comm. "We seem to be, Antilles. We'll be reaching Ukio's shield perimeter in another few minutes."
"Rapiqum, this is Ukio Control," the same voice from the planetary traffic control returned. "Your cargo hold is showing empty. We were really hoping you'd have some supplies for us."
The entire bridge exhaled as one.
"Sorry to disappoint, Ukio Control," Aves said apologetically. "We were one of three freighters dispatched from Sartinaynian last week. I think the other two were carrying military equipment, but we were just sent to help you do some exporting. We do have hard currency to pay for whatever we buy." The smuggler managed—barely, Luke thought—to keep a triumphant grin off his face.
"The Rebels must've gotten the other two," the voice said, sounding resigned and frustrated. "Damn them. And currency is good, but it's hard to spend it blockaded like this. Still, I'm sure the Admiral will put it to good use. We've given you a landing berth."
"Confirmed, Ukio Control," Aves said. "Sorry to hear our fellows didn't make it. We're going to be in and out as quickly as possible; we don't want to get caught ourselves on the way out."
Luke was impressed. Aves' casual, practiced Imperial officer impression was quite good. No doubt many smugglers had gotten good at it over the years. His danger sense continued to hum, the taut wire still waiting for a pluck. He patted the shoulder of Last Resort's tactical officer again and moved on, keeping carefully away from where Aves was still playing his role.
On the monitor, the nearest Star Destroyer, the Judicator, didn't make any moves to come towards them. The Last Resort continued towards Ukio, the planet now filling the window. Luke glanced towards the plot, and saw they were getting close to Ukio's shield perimeter.
He held his breath as they continued their approach, each kilometer feeling like ten.
"Yeah, I'm sorry too, Rapiqum. You're now under the Ukio shield perimeter. Feel free to make your landing approach. We'll get you out of here as quick as we can, don't want to lose any more good crews to the Rebels."
There was a second ripple of relief that fluttered through the crew, this time tinged with a hint of jubilance. The hard part was over, and it hadn't been all that hard at all. Karrde had been right, the cloak had done its part and concealed their attack force from the Imperial scanners.
Now it was their turn.
The communications link was cut off, and a ripple of relief and anticipation echoed around the bridge. The Twi'lek at the pilot's station pumped her fist in victory, and Aves relaxed into his chair and pushed his hands through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. "We're under the shield, Antilles," Aves announced.
Luke could feel the Rogue's relief—and hungry anticipation—from here. They'd lost Atril, they'd lost Strike, and now it was time for payback.
Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, knew he shouldn't approve. But Luke Skywalker, rebel X-wing pilot, survivor of Yavin and Hoth, co-founder of Rogue Squadron and prolific Rebellion ace couldn't help but share Wedge's anticipation.
"Good," Wedge said darkly, the tinny-effect of the intercom not taking any of the lingering menace out of his voice. "Get down here Luke, your fighter is waiting for you."
"Final report on the Rapiqum, Captain."
Pellaeon took the datapad and examined it. "No import items," he sighed. "We'll have to contact Linuri again and see if we can try again to sneak some freighters past the Rebel blockade." Conditions on Ukio and among the fleet were not yet dire, but after the loss of Suwen Station the fleet had especially begun to run low on Tibanna gas. "Maybe we'll have to send one of our freighters out to the garrison at Bespin," he grunted.
"That would be one option, sir," Lieutenant Dreyf agreed. "At this point, I would assume that we've gotten from Linuri all that we're going to get. The most recent update from Agonizer's intelligence division is that the base is also running short of a number of items, including Star Destroyer spare parts and TIEs." He grimaced. "They think Invidious raided the existing stocks of both, but can't get anyone to confirm that."
Pellaeon grimaced. "Wonderful," he growled. That meant even if they did get Agonizer back quickly, there was a good chance the Star Destroyer wouldn't be in prime condition, and wouldn't be able to bring back large stocks of spare parts for taking care of the numerous and sundry aches and pains plaguing the rest of the squadron. Amateurs study tactics, professionals study logistics, he reminded himself, hearing the words spoken in Thrawn's meticulous voice. If I ever needed a reminder of why that is true, this campaign would be it.
The men and women of the fleet had been tense ever since Agonizer's departure. Everyone knew Bel Iblis would strike Ukio sooner or later. Everyone knew that when he did, their forces would be outnumbered, potentially quite badly. Everyone knew that their singular strategic advantage was Ukio's planetary shield, which could keep the planet from being captured, but would do little to protect the ships and their crews, which would not and could not hide under that shield.
Increasingly, everyone also knew that it was hopeless. No one said it aloud, certainly not to him, but Pellaeon could see the anxiety, the exhaustion, and the stress that came along with despair. They had faith in Rogriss and they had faith in Pellaeon. They would fight to the last; that was what Thrawn had given them: confidence in themselves, confidence in their leaders, confidence in each other. But, with each passing day without reinforcement, they were losing their faith in the Empire itself.
Pellaeon remembered the waning days of the Republic. The chaos and catastrophe, the infighting and fratricidal conflict. How with each passing year more and more people were convinced the Republic would fall; how with each passing month more and more people would voice their fears of the worst that could come. He remembered how Chancellor Palpatine had been salvation, his reorganization of the state and the surge in confidence, the feeling of safety and security restored. The Empire had hardly been perfect—no government was perfect—but hadn't it been better than endless civil strife and bloodletting? Wasn't gradually reforming an imperfect but orderly and stable government preferable to tearing it all down and restoring chaos?
Thrawn would have known what to do.
Thrawn was dead.
There had to be someone in the Empire who could anchor it. Most of the Moffs were hopelessly corrupt, that had always been true, but some of them were still widely admired. Grand Moff Kaine was the obvious choice, but Pellaeon still resented how reluctant Kaine had been to support Thrawn. Moff Ferrouz would be a better choice; he'd always had a sterling reputation and was well-liked by the Starfleet, which was a rarity among Moffs. Or perhaps another military officer; while no one could replace Thrawn there were some on Carida that virtually every member of the Imperial officer corps knew and respected—
"Status change!"
Pellaeon was yanked rudely out of his musings and instantly alert. He took a few steps over to the status board, then reached for the ship's com as battle klaxons started to sound. "Admiral Rogriss," he said flatly, viewing the suddenly long list of enemy warships assembling and starting their slow, inexorable approach towards Ukio, "General Bel Iblis has arrived."
Orthavan snapped out of hyperspace, accompanied by the rest of Bel Iblis' fleet. The ships fell into a line formation, with Sair Yonka's ISD Freedom cutting forward, leading the Star Cruisers and dreadnaughts in a thrust towards the planet. Just as planned.
In the middle of the formation, the Interdictor Corusca Rainbow brought its gravity well projectors up to full strength, denying the Imperial fleet their most obvious avenue of retreat. Of course, Bel Iblis thought grimly, that assumed that Rogriss was interested in retreat. Given the Imperial Admiral's likely orders, he almost certainly wasn't.
Sena Midanyl stood at his shoulder, examining the combat plot with him. "Captain Horn's report was accurate," she commented. "Agonizer is gone, and two dreadnaughts with her. That makes our four Mon Calamari cruisers, Freedom, and Endurance versus their six Star Destroyers, and we have a very strong advantage in sub-capital craft." Her voice was a familiar combination of tense and confident. Confident because their force advantage was indeed substantial; tense, because battle was unpredictable, and even a substantial force advantage would not prevent them from losing ships and personnel.
Bel Iblis grunted his acknowledgement. On the display the Imperial ships were responding to their arrival; the six Star Destroyers were grouping into a box formation designed to concentrate firepower on one ship at a time. He reminded himself grimly that many a battle had been won by the numerically weaker side because the stronger side had been overconfident. "Fleet, this is the General. Reduce speed by half and alter vector to port fifty degrees. Shift formation to allow the Mon Calamari cruisers to take the point position. Cruisers, shift power from weapons to shields to absorb the initial Imperial barrage."
Captain Irraerl's gravelly voice echoed his commands, and Orthavan began to move.
He watched as the fleet formation adjusted, the heartier Mon Calamari Star Cruisers shifting to the point position and the entire fleet shifting to port. Star Destroyers were most dangerous along their forward firing axis, but Star Cruisers had a more even distribution of weapons and engaging with their side facing would allow them to roll and protect a damaged flank.
Just as importantly, the reduction in the fleet's overall speed would give General Antilles a chance to play his part and hopefully disrupt the Empire's overall battle plan before that battle had even been joined.
"Now we wait for the Rogues," Sena murmured.
"Yes," he muttered softly. "Now we wait for the Rogues."
Rogriss and Pellaeon clustered around the combat display on the elevated command walk in the middle of Chimaera's bridge, as the normal, nervous chatter before battle echoed in the crew pits on either side. "He's altered formation," Pellaeon mused, examining the display. "He's going to bring the Star Cruisers in first."
"Star Cruisers are tougher than our Star Destroyers, with their multilayered shields and heavy armor," Rogriss agreed. "Still, I wouldn't want to take one into the forward guns of six Star Destroyers." The admiral glanced at Pellaeon. "What do you think his strategy is?"
Pellaeon frowned, considering. Bel Iblis might just be counting on sheer toughness and numbers to let him drive his way through the Imperial formation like an Ylesian Bull Reek, but Pellaeon's experience with Bel Iblis suggested that the weathered old Corellian was up to something much more clever. "His biggest advantage over us isn't starships," Pellaeon pointed out. "It's starfighters. Our TIEs have dwindled, and their B-wings carry enough proton torpedoes to kill a Star Destroyer."
"Hmmmm," Rogriss mused softly, shifting the display, his eyes on the newest vessel in the Republican fleet. Endurance wasn't as large as a Star Destroyer, and from the latest intelligence estimates the vessel wasn't as well-armed as one. But everyone agreed it was a carrier, which meant it posed quite a different kind of danger. And Bel Iblis had also added that Quasar Fire-classcruiser-carrier. Between the two of them Bel Iblis could easily have a hundred starfighters, plus however many his other ships were carrying. "The Republic's new doctrine is starfighter heavy," he said thoughtfully.
Footsteps thumped across the deck, and Rogriss and Pellaeon both turned to face Lieutenant Tschel. "Communication from Ukio, sir," the Lieutenant said formally. "They're scrambling their surface-based TIE fighter squadrons and will raise the planetary defense shield as soon as deployment is complete."
"Good," Rogriss replied, folding his hands behind his back. He looked to Pellaeon. "That ought to give us a little more protection against the Republic's starfighters," he said.
"Yes," Pellaeon said slowly, watching the Republic maneuver with cautious eyes. Something still felt wrong. He and Thrawn had sparred with Bel Iblis many times, and while the General had more than enough guts for a straight-up brawl, he was also clever enough to have stymied Thrawn on more than one occasion. Bel Iblis still had to have at least one, perhaps more than one, trick coming—unless, as was possible, this attack had been launched quickly, without a great deal of planning, in response to Agonizer's departure. But Pellaeon didn't think so. There wassomething he wasn't seeing yet.
But what?
"Admiral?" a voice called from the scanning station in the starboard crew pit. "Admiral, we're getting some confusing sensor readings from Ukio."
Rogriss and Pellaeon both moved to the side of the long walk, peering down at the standing man. "Confusing?" Pellaeon demanded. "Confusing how?"
"Sir, I think Rapiqum just suffered some kind of major hull breach," the officer replied. "It looks like she lost a large chunk of hull plating, and… seems to be venting cargo into Ukio's atmosphere?"
"Cargo?" Pellaeon exclaimed. "Our scans said Rapiqum was empty!"
He stormed over to the console and brought up the sensor data in real time. Rapiqum was listing badly, but under control; the ship seemed to have lost its main cargo bay door, and perhaps some of the hull besides. But as he watched, it didn't seem like the freighter was out of control, and still more objects tumbled out of the hole in its hull. But their descents didn't look like debris, no… it was more like a controlled descent…
And then, like a thunderbolt, he understood.
From the sudden inhalation from Rogriss, and the man's knuckles going white where he gripped the rail, he knew that the Admiral understood as well. Rogriss spun away. "Is Rapiqum already under Ukio's defense shield perimeter?" he barked.
"Umm, yes sir!" called an officer from the portside crew pit.
Rogriss spun back to Tschel. "Tell Ukio to expedite fighter deployment and prepare all surface defenses! Tell them Rapiqum is hostile and to prepare for starfighter attack!"
But it was already too late, and Pellaeon knew it.
Wedge was the first pilot to drop out of Last Resort's makeshift hangar, his fighter in freefall down towards the surface before the engines kicked in. He shifted S-foils to attack mode, felt the X-wing eagerly shift into its more aggressive combat position. Star Galleons weren't built to carry snubfighters, but they were built to carry large amounts of cargo and load and unload it quickly. Repairing the damage they'd done to the ship depressurizing the cargo hold while in flight would take a while, and Aves hadn't been thrilled about using his ship in such a ruthless manner, but the ample compensation Bel Iblis promised had made up for the smuggler's qualms.
Atmosphere and friction screamed around him as his X-wing dipped towards the grassy surface and rolling fields of Ukio, Gate already humming as he identified the main Imperial ground garrison—and more importantly, identified the large, hastily-built permacrete structure that housed several squadrons of the Empire's ground-based TIE fighters. From the intelligence Cracken had sent them, there were five squadrons of TIE fighters and interceptors stationed on the ground on Ukio. Even worse, those squadrons were largely flown by Thrawn's clone pilots, who had proven time and again to be much more dangerous than the average Imperial novice. In space, those pilots could wreak havoc on the Republic's snubfighters and turn what Wedge hoped would be a one-sided rout into a bloody fiasco.
But they weren't in space yet. They weren't even in the air yet. They were still on the ground.
Gate hummed a solid tone and Wedge's HUD glowed with the red of a solid target lock. Wedge drew back on the stick, leveling his fighter out as he closed on the Imperial base, and then when he reached three klicks out he thumbed the weapon release. Two proton torpedoes lanced out from his fighter, joined seconds later by two more from Tycho, then two from Hobbie and finally, almost reluctantly, two from Luke.
He watched as the facility's lasers belatedly started firing. The four X-wings split and went evasive, drawing the ground-based weapons to chase them. Avoiding the incoming fire was almost too easy and Wedge fought off the impulse to scoff at the poor gunnery. They weren't expecting us to be here and they're panicking, but a panicked turbolaser still kills you just as dead.
Wedge's X-wing was now close enough that his computer could identify the TIEs on the ground. Three dozen TIE interceptors, sheltered in their hangar in neat lines, pilots gathered around them preparing to launch.
His two torpedoes hit and the roof of the hangar imploded, permacrete and transparisteel transforming from foundation into fragmentation grenades as the explosive potential from the torpedoes converted into energy. The structure sagged, structural pillars shattering, and then the building collapsed under its own weight. With a sudden crash that Wedge could hear from the sky even over the roar of his fighter's engines in atmosphere the interceptors and their pilots vanished under tons of collapsing, insufficiently reinforced permacrete.
Tycho's torpedoes struck the already ruined building and explosions ricocheted to the neighboring structures. A tall, six-story building which was probably a troop and pilot dormitory fell as its primary supports vanished, toppling sideways and adding more ruin to what was left of the Imperial base. Proton torpedoes which would have been enough to eviscerate an unshielded Star Destroyer had just done much worse to an unshielded, unarmored base which had been thought well-enough protected by the planet's shield generator alone.
Remarkably, one of the garrison's TIEs had actually slipped out of the hangar before its collapse, skidding forward and avoiding falling debris. The fighter bounced on its repulsorlifts, then turned up towards the sky and started climbing against atmosphere and gravity, pitted and scoured by shrapnel. That was as far as it got; Wedge put a full quad burst into the stricken fighter, melting the vessel and sending its wreck crashing back down into the ruins of its hangar it had just escaped.
He'd just killed hundreds of men and women. On another day, he'd feel a degree of guilt for that. It wouldn't keep him from doing it, they were the enemy and they'd kill him if he didn't kill them first, but he'd regret the necessity of it.
Not today.
Hobbie and Luke scorched over the ground, their proton torpedoes leaving craters where laser turrets had been. The weapons fire from the ground stopped, leaving billowing smoke that pumped into the air, darkening the sky as more secondary explosions echoed across the ground.
"Target one eliminated," Wedge reported bloodlessly over the squadron comm. "Two Flight, Three Flight report in."
"Nine here," Corran's voice was calm and confident. "The tertiary fighter garrison has been destroyed. Clean sweep, the squadron here isn't going to trouble us. We're clearing out the surface defenses around the shield generator now so we can bring down Last Resort."
"This is Five," Janson's voice was tense, and Wedge could hear in it the split focus of a conversation in the middle of a melee. There was the sound of laser fire and a distant explosion, and Janson's heavy, relieved sigh. "TIEs were in the air before we got here," he reported shortly. "Could use a hand. Watch your back, Six!"
Wedge pulled back hard on the stick, wheeling his X-wing about and putting on speed to go to Janson's aid. Checking his HUD, he saw that it would be a few minutes before he and the other Rogues could get there, but there was something else he could do that might help even from a distance. "Gate, give me a wide band on comms," he ordered.
His astromech whistled an affirmative.
There are plenty of Imp pilots out there who don't sleep the whole night through because of dreams about you being on their tails. Tycho had told him that once, he remembered, before another difficult mission. It was true, too. And scared Imp pilots made mistakes.
"Attention, Imperial Forces," Wedge's tone was brash and confident—and coldly furious. "This is General Wedge Antilles of the New Republic Armed Forces, commanding Rogue Squadron. I have just destroyed your primary starfighter garrison and the interceptors that were stationed there. The planet Ukio is now under New Republic control. This is your only warning: stand down immediately or we will engage and destroy you." He clicked off the audio pickup. "Did everyone get that, Gate?"
His astromech cheerfully whistled another affirmative, and Wedge shoved the anger down somewhere it wouldn't distract him and skimmed his eyes over the holo of Iella as he made another practiced visual circuit of his surroundings and sensor board.
On his HUD, he watched as the distance to the half-squadron of Imperial fighters dancing with Wes, Gavin, Myn and Nrin closed to under seven klicks, and he toggled his weapons over to torpedoes and attempted a lock as his X-wing howled towards the furball. Make the right choice Imps, and power down. Because if you don't, your flying days are done. You've angered Rogue Squadron, and we are done running away.
Wedge's communication came through in the clear on Orthavan's bridge, and Bel Iblis' lips firmed together. "How much of their fighter contingent does Rogriss have left?" he asked, turning towards Midanyl.
She tapped on the display. "Assuming our most recent intelligence is accurate, and assuming that Agonizer departed without any fighters, the Imperial fleet here should have no more than eight but no fewer than six squadrons of TIE fighters and interceptors remaining." She nodded firmly. "Including the one the Rogues are currently engaged with." She gestured at the display where the Republic's starfighters were indicated. "We have a strong advantage in numbers now. Between all the ships in the fleet we've got eighteen squadrons of fighters." She smiled confidently, her expression cool. "Orders, General?"
Bel Iblis folded his arms across his chest. His one greatest concern had been that Rogriss would be ready waiting for them. He and Wedge still didn't know how exactly Rogriss had found Ession Strike to set up the ambush that had resulted in the corvette's loss, but the possibility that Cracken's wayward HoloNet slicer had set it up somehow hadn't escaped either of them. There had been a chance that whatever Sithspawned black magic had cost them Strike would make a repeat performance, but so far it didn't appear that would be the case.
There was no time for second guessing.
"Bel Iblis to the fleet," he growled. "Increase to flank speed. Take us in. And may the Force be with us."